


auribus teneo lupum

by thewriterofperfectdisasters



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: (lowkey) - Freeform, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Gladiator AU, M/M, Spartacus AU, but not overly graphic, depictions of violence, lost love back from the dead!!, yes i know i'm not happy the regent is in here either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 02:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17153612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriterofperfectdisasters/pseuds/thewriterofperfectdisasters
Summary: It was funny. He tilted his head, thinking how he almost recognised one of them. The deep skin, taut over the muscles of a warrior. The helmets were impeding any surety Laurent could get, but the gladiator reminded him of Damen. He had the same easy way about him as he knelt in the sand, hands on the hilts of two swords – but it couldn’t be Damen. He was long dead.





	auribus teneo lupum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophiacrutchfeild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiacrutchfeild/gifts).



> so here's the uh, final product for my secret santa! ~~ngl i rewrote this fic about three times but whatever lol.~~ shout out to the [mods](https://caprisecretsanta2018.tumblr.com/) for running such a smooth event and being so helpful with everything!
> 
> hopefully this filled the vague guidelines for my prompt lol, but happy holidays to everyone! (and in case i don't get everything out that i want to before the 31st, best wishes to yall for the new year, too!!)

Damen coughed as he sat up, narrowing his eyes and spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the sand as he waved a hand to his opponent. ‘Enough, enough.’

‘Enough, is it?’

‘It’s enough,’ Damen said, taking advantage of his opponent’s pause to offer a hand by sweeping his leg under his ankles and leaping up in the same movement to point the end of his wooden practice sword at his throat. ‘Done?’

Aktis sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘Done.’

Damen grinned and offered a hand, being sure to stand far enough away from Aktis’ feet and avoid falling to the same trick. ‘Good fight.’

‘A good fight isn’t going to do much when it comes to the games, though, is it?’

‘I don’t know about you, but I’m not content to die for entertainment,’ Damen said, brushing the sand off his legs with a frown. ‘If they want to see fighting, they should take part in the war.’

‘But they don’t need to, that’s the thing,’ Aktis said, as they headed for the shade and the water barrels there. ‘War is not fun. War is where the “good men” die, and we’re just slaves.’

‘I am not a slave.’

Aktis raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Yet you’re here, same as I am.’

‘That doesn’t mean I’m supposed to be here.’

‘And where else, exactly, do you have to be?’

‘I have someone waiting for me. I have a home, people to care for.’

‘Wife and children, huh?’ Aktis shook his head. ‘We’ve all got wives and children, doesn’t make you special.’

Damen’s jaw clicked audibly as he fought not to correct him. He didn’t know if that particular bit of information would make him more of a target than he already was, but he didn’t want to find out.

Damen, having been a commander of the army, as close to the rank of a prince as one could possibly get, almost close to the _emperor_ as one could possibly get, had one of the largest targets on his back in this entire ludus. No one knew any of this about him, but they knew there was something, and for some reason, that he was more dangerous, even than he looked. Even than what they had seen of him in the arena.

Tomorrow was the day they had all been waiting for, the day they would be presented to the Emperor and expected to kill each other, and to kill Damen, a favourite of the crowd, would surely earn them at least their freedom.

But Damen knew something – _someone_ – they didn’t. Damen would be doing everything he could to get out of there alive, even if it meant slaughtering the friends he’d made here. Tomorrow, the Emperor would see them, and with him would inevitably be his nephew, having stolen him from Damen’s lands in the south.

Tomorrow, for the first time in many months, so many moons Damen had lost track, he would see Laurent.

And Laurent would see him.

***

‘You know I do not care for the games,’ Laurent muttered, lounging in his seat as a couple of servants waved ostrich feather fans at him. It was hot, even under the canopy, the air dry and overwhelming. He didn’t even want to be here. Blood sports like this were not something he particularly enjoyed, especially not when it was enslaved people being pitted against each other for the benefit of a crowd. There was no honour here.

The crowds had been getting worse, somehow, the people ever demanding _more, more, more_. They were getting bored of how the games used to be, and they wanted it bigger and better and bloodier than ever. Laurent thought if they wanted to see fighting, they should go and take part in the war.

But on the other hand, the war had taken Damen from him. Killed on the frontlines and his body stolen, paraded as a war trophy by the northerners. Damen had been a legatus, one who cared for his men, going forth through the ranks to lead them to victory himself, and every time he had gone to fight, Laurent had prayed it wouldn’t be the last time.

Laurent didn’t blame the gods for taking Damen from him, though. He knew Damen was happy to give his life, otherwise he wouldn’t have taken up the post, but it must have just been his time. The Fates must have cut his string short, or maybe never even woven it very long in the first place.

That being said, Laurent could definitely blame someone for his death, and that person was his uncle – the Emperor. He had appointed Damen, he had sent him to the frontlines with his men, and if he hadn’t, if he’d just let Damen _stay_ with Laurent at their villa, then everything would’ve been so much simpler.

‘If you do not care for the games,’ the Emperor said, sitting and waving genially to the crowds of the arena, ‘then why are you here?’

‘Because you gave me no choice.’

‘And why would I do that?’ There was a glint in his eye that Laurent didn’t like.

‘I can only imagine, Uncle,’ Laurent said, gesturing for a servant to bring him water. It was going to be a long day.

He didn’t pay attention as his uncle addressed the crowd, as they roared their approval of whatever speech he’d given, no doubt rousing their bloodlust and proclaiming the games a worthy event, something to be excited for.

With a wave of his hand, the crowd got louder, and the first pairings of gladiators were brought to the sand. These were only the… _lower_ standards of men, and the fights seemed to be over in the blink of an eye.

Laurent was saddened by it, he didn’t want to watch these strangers die like this, but he was also glad it meant the primus would come faster, and maybe he would have hope to leave while the food he ate remained in his stomach.

By mid-afternoon, patches of the sand in the arena were stained red, whole stretches where bodies had been pulled across to be disposed of in the labyrinth below. Laurent could almost smell it from where he sat.

Gods, Laurent needed air.

But he knew if he left now, he wouldn’t hear the end of it from his uncle, so he stayed put, suffering through it, even though he had no cause nor right to claim it as a hardship on himself.

‘How much longer do you expect this to take?’ Laurent asked. ‘I don’t have places to be, but I’d rather not be here.’

The Emperor turned to him, expression blank. ‘At least pretend to enjoy yourself. Petulance doesn’t suit you.’

Laurent set his jaw and looked back to the arena. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘I don’t know the answer to your question, nephew. If you’re so interested in it, why don’t you go down and find out?’

‘Excellent, I may just do that,’ Laurent said, standing and making his way down to the cells beneath the arena for someone who knew what was going on. He could feel the pair of soldiers accompanying him looking around in confusion and maybe fear. The people they were surrounded by now were tried and tested killers. Given half a chance, Laurent suspected they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him – that’s why they were in cells.

‘Apologies, lord,’ one of the soldiers said, tapping him on the shoulder to get his attention. ‘But what are we doing here?’

‘Looking for someone who can give me a straight answer,’ Laurent muttered, his eyes locking on a man who seemed to be directing everything. ‘You!’

The man raised an eyebrow as he looked over Laurent, taking in the finery of his clothing and the two large sapphires dangling from his ear. ‘Yes?’

‘When, exactly can we expect this to be over?’

The eyebrow went higher as the man approached Laurent. ‘Are you bored, lord? Do you want more action, more blood spilled at your feet? I’m sure we can arrange that.’

‘Actually, I have no taste for the games,’ Laurent said, looking around the cells at the few men still waiting to be sent to the gods. ‘I find them… depraved. We shouldn’t have to result to sending men to their deaths for the pleasures of a crowd.’

The man studied Laurent for a moment. ‘These men find honour here.’

‘If they wish to die and put their skills to use, there’s surely an army somewhere.’

‘These men were turned out of armies.’

‘Even so, death should not be entertainment. My uncle wishes me to be here, and I wish to leave. I simply ask when that might be.’

‘There are three matches before the primus.’

‘Excellent. Thank you.’ Laurent turned on his heel and headed back the way he had come. As he reached the first set of stairs out, he paused, thinking he’d heard his name called. He looked back at the cells, barely able to make out the shapes of men in the darkness, let alone faces, and decided he must have simply imagined it. He shook his head, set his shoulders, and continued out, secure in the knowledge he wouldn’t have to endure much more of the games.

***

‘Laurent!’ Damen yelled, finally close enough to confirm he wasn’t dreaming, and that Laurent was here. It had been almost three years since he’d seen him, and while he didn’t know if Laurent had moved on, or if he still thought of Damen, he at least hoped he might still care for Damen in some way, even if he thought he was dead. Damen rattled the bars, tempted to call out again, but jerked back as the director of the games lashed out at him with a whip.

‘Shut it,’ he hissed, holding the whip menacingly at Damen, ‘or I’ll ensure you don’t make it out alive.’

Damen ground his teeth and barely resisted the urge to run his mouth, as he watched Laurent stop at the stairs and turn around, scanning the cells. Damen knew the light down here would give him no help, and while slightly hurt that Laurent didn’t come back to investigate, he wasn’t surprised.

He’d heard Laurent asking when the games would finish, and Damen could only hope he wouldn’t leave before he got the chance to grace the sands. This was his chance to see Laurent, for Laurent to see _him_ , and he had to make it count.

He had to get out of here.

***

As another body was dragged from the sand, one fight left to the primus, Laurent took a deep breath and signalled for wine. His uncle had a very satisfied smirk on his face as he watched the minute but growing signs of Laurent’s discomfort at being here.

‘You may be excused, if you really wish to go that much,’ the Emperor said, as the crowd roared in excitement when the next two gladiators stepped onto the sand. ‘Though it may be bad for your image.’

‘Bad for my image?’ Laurent repeated, shifting slightly in his seat as he glanced to the gladiators making their way down the arena. ‘I’m not the one having men kill each other for fun.’

‘I’m simply giving the people what they want.’

‘One day, this will end, and people will see you as a barbarian,’ Laurent hissed. ‘But I will take you up on your offer. I will leave.’

The Emperor’s smile dropped a little as Laurent stood, clearly surprised Laurent wasn’t going to play this game with him. ‘Surely not. There are only two left. Why leave before the best has been?’

‘Because I don’t like to indulge you,’ Laurent said, turning out to the arena, where the gladiators were close – close enough to see, and for them to kneel in the presence of the Emperor, as was custom. Laurent paused to look over them. He could at least honour them by _seeing_ them, even if he didn’t approve of their situation.

It was funny. He tilted his head, thinking how he almost recognised one of them. The deep skin, taut over the muscles of a warrior. The helmets were impeding any surety Laurent could get, but the gladiator reminded him of Damen. He had the same easy way about him as he knelt in the sand, hands on the hilts of two swords – but it couldn’t be Damen. He was long dead.

‘You don’t like to indulge me, yet you are still here,’ the Emperor said drily from behind Laurent. ‘Have you changed your mind?’

‘I…’ Laurent stepped to the edge of the balcony, his fingers digging into the stone as he waited for the gladiator to lift his head.

Laurent saw two things in that moment – when the gladiator lifted his head, his hands tightened around his swords, and when he moved his head slightly to meet Laurent’s gaze, there was a certain twitch like a small incline of his head. Damen used to greet him like that when they were expected to be formal, his eyes twinkling with humour.

‘Stop,’ Laurent said, stepping back from the balcony. ‘This is not going ahead.’

‘And why not?’

‘Because you have Damianos down there,’ Laurent said, as calmly as he could manage. ‘That’s Damianos.’

‘Damianos? Which Damianos?’

‘ _My_ Damianos. Damen. Who you sent to the north and told me was killed and his body stolen as a trophy,’ Laurent said, turning from the balcony and making his way to the stairs, only to find them blocked by a set of guards. ‘Let me out.’

The guards were silent as the Emperor stood from his seat, approaching Laurent and putting a hand heavy with rings hard on his shoulder. ‘I think you should just stay here.’

‘No, I’m leaving, and I’m taking Damen with me.’

‘How do you know that’s Damianos? He’s down there, and you can’t even see his face.’

‘I think I would know the man I’ve been in love with most of my life, thank you,’ Laurent spat. ‘Let me out.’

The Emperor rose from his seat and headed to the balcony, looking out across the arena for a moment and waving to the crowd. ‘Damianos is here to fight,’ the Emperor said finally, ‘and you’re here to watch him.’

Laurent felt his face screw up slightly in pain at the thought of losing Damen after he’d only just found out he was alive – because while his uncle was right, the gladiator _was_ wearing a helmet, he was so sure that wasn’t any random man. That was Damen.

Laurent couldn’t let his uncle see what this was doing to him, and so, he took a moment to compose himself before he joined him back at the balcony. ‘You knew.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘You knew he was alive.’

‘Of course, I knew,’ the Emperor said, like Laurent was stupid for even suggesting he hadn’t. ‘You have your place, your _duty_ to uphold. I wasn’t going to let you waste your life on him.’

‘I’d already decided Damen was who I wanted. I have no need nor wish of a wife, that’s why you have my brother. He’s already proven himself capable of carrying on the family line. Why do you need me?’

‘I don’t _need_ you, I just don’t want you to be an embarrassment to this family. Getting rid of _him_ was the only way to ensure you would stay in your place.’

‘Stay in my place,’ Laurent echoed. ‘This is about controlling me. It always has been. You promoted Damen high enough that you could conceivably get rid of him, then when you had him removed, I had nowhere to turn but back to you.’

‘See? Isn’t this fun?’

Laurent bit his tongue and watched as his uncle nodded the signal for the fight to begin. ‘If he dies,’ Laurent said lowly, flecks of stone crumbling off the balcony beneath his clenched fingers, ‘you will never know peace until I have my revenge.’

‘And what if he wins?’ the Emperor asked, as the gladiators began pacing around each other. ‘What then?’

‘Then you better hide and pray to the gods that we don’t find you.’

‘Bold of you to assume I’ll let you see him.’

‘You don’t need to _let_ me do anything. Jupiter, himself, would find cause to tremble if he laid hand upon Damen, and you are but a man.’

‘I am the _Emperor_ , divinely crowned.’

‘But not divinely powered.’

When Laurent dared to look back to the arena, to Damen facing his death for what would not be the first time, he was… surprised by what he saw. If Damen had been placed in the fight preceding the primus, then he would surely be an experienced gladiator, would have killed countless men to achieve the status his fight granted him.

But something was wrong. Laurent could pick Damen’s fighting out in a crowd of a thousand other men, he knew the way he moved when he had the intent to kill, and he knew how he moved when he practiced. To an outsider, they might see no difference, but Laurent could pinpoint the moment when Damen exercised restraint behind his blows.

Damen knew this man well, trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t take advantage of him and end the fight to advance himself – this wasn’t a fight, this was a dance. A play, acted with weapons sharp enough that one mistake could signal the end. They moved around each other easily, familiarly, like Damen and Laurent used to do. There was a plan here. Somewhere.

The other gladiator knocked into Damen, close enough that their heads were less than a hand’s breadth apart. Close enough to exchange words.

They broke apart and Damen glanced up to Laurent as they began circling again. He twirled his swords as the other gladiator adjusted his grip on his shield, and Laurent knew something was coming.

Their fighting picked up the pace, becoming frenzied as blows were exchanged faster, bouncing off the shield and causing loud metallic rings to echo through the arena as swords clashed.

Anticipation was thick in the air, everyone else waiting for a slip in their carefully choreographed fight, while Laurent was waiting for the sign that Damen’s plan was going into action.

It came in the form of a series of blows that had the other gladiator staggering back, almost until his back touched the wall below the balcony. He regained a few feet easily, as Damen turned and ran away, followed by the booing of the arena.

His opponent, however, stayed where he was.

‘What is he doing?’ the Emperor asked. ‘Why does he not give chase?’

Damen stopped a short distance away, his chest heaving with exertion, waiting until the other gladiator gave a nod that anyone not looking for it would’ve missed. Damen changed his grip on one of his swords and started running towards his opponent who knelt, giving Damen the face of his shield.

As Damen’s foot connected with the shield, he was pushed up into the air, his momentum sending him flying high into the air.

There was a split second between Laurent realising what was happening, and it being proven right before his eyes.

Damen wasn’t stupid enough to launch himself into the balcony – there were too many guards that he would be killed almost immediately – but Laurent? The guards wouldn’t dare to touch him.

The sword Damen threw soared past Laurent, embedding itself in the chest of a guard.

Before anyone could react, Laurent yanked the sword out and pointed it directly at his uncle’s throat. ‘Stop the fight.’

The Emperor raised an eyebrow, looking utterly unperturbed by his current circumstances. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘Because I’ll kill you if you don’t.’

‘Do you know how many guards are here?’

‘I don’t fear any of them.’

‘You wouldn’t kill me,’ the Emperor said, even as he glanced down to the blade, unshaking and steady in Laurent’s hand.

‘I’m sorry the sword I have to your neck has given the wrong impression.’ Laurent pressed the tip of the sword a little further into his uncle’s skin, the point of it sending a bead of blood down his throat. ‘I’ll ask once more – are you going to stop the fight, or are you going to stop breathing?’

‘I won’t let you get away with this,’ he hissed. ‘Consider your time with him a parting gift.’

‘How gracious,’ Laurent said flatly, taking the sword from his uncle’s throat. ‘Send anyone after me and I will dispatch them to the gods.’

‘I’m sure.’

Laurent backed away keeping one eye on his uncle, and the other on the swarms of guards around him, and ran to the cells beneath the arena. During his exchange with his uncle, he’d seen Damen and his opponent corralled off the sand by guards and back underground. The tunnels down there were like a maze, and now Laurent had what was likely a very limited amount of time to find him.

He zigzagged through the rock, ducking around corners and slipping past people making their own way about. He found himself at the cells he’d initially been in, searching them for Damen. It was then realised he probably hadn’t imagined someone calling his name earlier.

‘You!’ Laurent called, catching sight of the same man as before. ‘Where are the men that were just in the arena?’

The man raised an eyebrow. ‘Why? Did you take a fancy to one?’

‘That’s none of your business,’ Laurent said. ‘Where are they?’

‘Down there,’ the man replied, gesturing to a corridor that ran off the chamber they were in. ‘Careful, lord, they’re violent. Almost killed the Emperor.’

‘So did I,’ Laurent muttered, stalking past him and following the sound of voices.

He ended up in another, smaller chamber, only a few torches hanging on the wall to light the space. Whatever this place was, it wasn’t good, with manacles attached to the wall and ceilings, and a small trench at the back to drain… whatever fluid they expected in this room.

There were at least six guards, all working to contain the two, huge gladiators. They already had Damen’s opponent with his wrists in irons, and were fighting to get Damen in them, too.

‘Stop!’ Laurent said, holding his hand and sword behind himself. There was enough fabric falling off him that it didn’t look too unnatural and that would surely work in Laurent’s favour. ‘What are you doing?’

The guards stopped trying to contain Damen, who looked at Laurent with surprise, like he hadn’t expected him to appear. ‘Who are you?’ one guard asked.

‘Idiot, that’s the Emperor’s nephew,’ another hissed. ‘Lord, we are containing the slaves.’

‘Why?’

The second guard blinked. ‘They… tried to kill the Emperor, lord.’

‘I have been sent to deal with them.’

‘Lord?’ a third guard asked in question.

‘Unhand them,’ Laurent said. ‘Take the other one down.’

‘They are dangerous, lord. They will surely kill you before you get the chance to –’

Laurent brought the sword from behind himself and lifted it. ‘Unhand and unbind them.’

The guards laughed, hands on their own blades. ‘You are but one man, lord.’

Laurent spun, swinging his sword and slicing down the man closest to him, blood running down the gentle slope of the floor into the drain. ‘I am one man with a sword.’

‘You –’

‘For the love of the gods, just unbind them. I don’t have time to stand around killing you.’

The guards exchanged a glance, like they weren’t sure what to do, and Laurent sighed loudly.

‘Just – give me the keys and go.’

‘Are you – but you’re the Emperor’s nephew,’ one said slowly. ‘You want these gladiators?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘That’s none of your business. Are we doing this the easy way or not?’

The guards looked at each other again, muttering under their breath for a few moments, before one took the keys off his belt and tossed them to Laurent. ‘I’ve never liked being a soldier.’

‘Direct no one to me and your secret is safe,’ Laurent said, walking through them to Damen and handing him the sword. ‘Hold this, would you?’

‘You’d give him a sword?’ the soldier asked, because for some reason, they were still standing there.

Laurent smiled as he started trying keys in the manacle at Damen’s wrist. ‘Not going to kill me, are you, Damianos?’

Damen laughed, and _gods,_ it was so good to hear that sound again, even as it pulled at Laurent’s heart to know how long he’d been missing out on it. ‘Only with love,’ he murmured, as his wrist popped free and he used it to pull Laurent’s face to his own. ‘You took your time.’

‘You’ll have to forgive me,’ Laurent said, kissing Damen quickly once more. ‘I’ve thought you were dead these three years.’

‘Is anyone going to let me down?’

Damen and Laurent turned to the other gladiator, and Laurent could see now he knew him as well. ‘Nikandros?’

‘Laurent. A pleasure to see you again.’

‘You’re only saying that because I have the keys,’ Laurent said, making his way over as Damen pointed his sword to the guards that were _still there_. ‘My brother will be pleased to hear you’re alive.’

‘He’s married,’ Nikandros said.

‘So?’ Laurent asked, testing a key and moving to the next when it didn’t fit. ‘Never stopped him before.’

‘Never stops anyone,’ Nikandros said, grunting when his arm swung down from the ceiling, followed quickly by the other. ‘This has been fun. Let’s not do it again.’

‘Agreed,’ Laurent said, turning to find the soldiers still standing around uncertainly. ‘Why are you still here?’

‘We – you probably shouldn’t take them,’ one of the guards said.

‘Well I am,’ Laurent shrugged. ‘You don’t want to take any blame?’

‘Rather like my head where it is, lord.’

‘I could lock you in some manacles.’

‘That sounds fun,’ Damen murmured behind Laurent, laughing when he earned a swat for it.

‘You were just in them,’ Laurent muttered. ‘Are you saying I wasted my efforts?’

‘No, I’m saying we always had fun in times like that.’

‘Apologies I didn’t immediately drop to my knees, Damianos.’

‘We might have time later.’

‘Not until you’ve cleaned.’

***

A month later, and they’d made it safely out of the arena and to Nikandros’ family in the south, who were sheltering them all from the reach of the Emperor until he could be… dealt with.

Laurent and Damen’s reunion had been maybe a little awkward to begin, but they’d quickly warmed up and were back to how they had always been, with a few exceptions.

Damen had seen war and together they’d handled what came with that. This, what he’d been faced with the last few years, was both better and worse than war. He’d still been fighting and doing what he needed to survive, but he felt more guilt when it was for sport, and Laurent could tell. It wasn’t just that it was blatantly obvious when he woke up in the night, but in the way he held himself, sometimes tip-toeing around things.

That, and his back.

Laurent had felt sick the first time he’d seen the scarring, not for himself, but for Damen. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to ask about it, and still wouldn’t, but Nikandros had filled him in on what had happened.

Apparently, they’d been lumped together, sold together to the same ludus, the one kindness the Emperor had afforded them. Nikandros hadn’t been perfectly clear on the details, but he said something Laurent barely caught about how Damen had beaten him in a fight, been commanded to kill Nikandros and finish the victory, but had refused. The lashes were his punishment. He’d almost died. That was two years ago.

Nikandros, ever helpful as Damen’s second in command, had been doing his best with what he had to keep the skin from getting tight, but every now and then, Damen complained of some stiffness. It was a testament to his fighting skills that he’d still managed to climb into favouritism, even as hindered as he was.

Laurent could only imagine how it felt to have received such punishment, but even without asking, he knew Damen wouldn’t regret it. He’d known Nikandros for longer than he’d known Laurent, and it was likely a small price to pay for the life of his best friend.

Laurent had arranged a salve, some oils to massage the skin and prevent the tightness, though he wasn’t sure how much good it would do after two years. He approached Damen wordlessly, unpinning the fabric covering his back as he sat on their bed, rubbing his shoulder.

He startled a little when Laurent did it, stiffening at the first feel of Laurent running his fingers down the skin. ‘What are –’

‘Hush,’ Laurent murmured, unstopping one of the small oil bottles and pouring a little into his hand. He stoppered it again and dropped it to the side, clambering gracelessly onto the bed behind him, smoothing his hands down Damen’s back again to spread the oil and begin rubbing it in with his fingers.

Damen let out small groans, sagging further forward the longer Laurent kneaded his back, his head hanging as Laurent worked his way to the base of Damen’s neck. His shoulders rolled forward and the whole of his back was open, ready for Laurent’s gentle, persistent touches.

‘When did you get so good at this?’ Damen asked, as Laurent moved his hands to the bottom of the scarring, right in the small of Damen’s back.

‘I’ve always been good at this, you just forgot,’ Laurent said, pressing a kiss to the back of Damen’s bicep where he could reach it. ‘Did it help?’

‘Very much, thank you,’ Damen said, waiting only until Laurent had cleaned off the oil and rubbed in a salve to flop backwards, his limbs loose. ‘I missed you.’

‘I thought you were dead,’ Laurent said, not for the first time, as he arranged himself, folded into Damen’s side. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t –’

‘Didn’t what? There was nothing you could have done. I don’t blame you for anything that happened,’ Damen pulled Laurent tighter into his side, fingers digging into the fabric bunched at his waist. ‘But I have you back, and that’s what matters now.’

‘For now.’

‘You’re planning something.’

‘When am I not?’

Damen rested his chin on Laurent’s head and sighed. ‘When are we going?’

‘As soon as I get word he’s back at his own villa. He should be dead by the time we get there,’ Laurent said, unable to keep the edge of happiness from his voice.

‘What?’

‘Can’t be punished for a murder if you weren’t present, can you?’

‘I suppose not,’ Damen agreed. ‘What have you done?’

‘I’ve done nothing,’ Laurent said, poking his head up and twisting around to smile at Damen. ‘I’ve simply made an arrangement.’

‘An arrangement, hmm?’

‘Paschal has a lot of mysterious salves and potions.’

‘Ah.’

‘Would you have preferred I let him go unpunished for what he did to you?’ Laurent asked, raising an eyebrow as he pushed himself onto his elbows to look down at Damen. ‘That I let him think he’d won?’

‘No,’ Damen shrugged, folding an arm under his head. ‘But I wouldn’t have minded a more… active role in his demise.’

‘I know. I wouldn’t have minded a bit of stabbing, personally,’ Laurent said dreamily. ‘But at least this way, we aren’t implicated, and he’s still dead.’

‘Still a problem solved.’

‘Exactly, and we’re free to live our lives while my brother steps up.’

Damen hummed. ‘I always liked him.’

‘Me too.’

‘So, what do you want to do now?’

‘Now my uncle is out of the way?’ Laurent smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to Damen’s collarbone. ‘Anything you want.’

**Author's Note:**

> shameless self promo as always - you can follow me on [tumblr](http://damiaanos.tumblr.com) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/daamiaanos)! :))


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